


Talk About Bones

by Lothiriel84



Series: SOL: A Self-Banishment Ritual [4]
Category: The Bunker (Podcast)
Genre: Backstory, Dave's Special Days, Emotionally Repressed, Gen, I Don't Even Know, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Mental Health Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-20
Updated: 2020-04-20
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:35:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23754730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lothiriel84/pseuds/Lothiriel84
Summary: It took a crane all day to pull his piano from the riverThat’s when the hope that you’d been holding all gave outSeven years go by and now you get this nameless postcardSays, “You and me—let’s have a talk about doubt”
Relationships: David Knight/David Price (The Bunker), Tom Dalling & David Price (The Bunker)
Series: SOL: A Self-Banishment Ritual [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1704295
Kudos: 1





	Talk About Bones

He hasn’t gone soft, he keeps telling himself. Dave’s Special Days are all about damage control, if anything – as successful a measure as any to manage Dave’s sporadic depressive episodes, which have proven to be significantly harder to tackle than Tom’s manic outburst of pent-up emotion.

The main trouble is, he’s running out of plausible new categorisations to enforce, should the need arise. National Hug Day has proved to be a dreadful mistake, one he can hardly backtrack on now; the newly introduced Great Hair Day feels pretty much like scraping the bottom of the barrel, but it was the best he could come up with on the spot, and anyway, Dave seems to have taken to it like a duck to water.

“Do I get cake, too?” the un-birthday boy demands from where he’s half reclining on a pile of old yoga mats, half lying with his head on Tom’s lap.

“Do I look like your mother?” he rolls his eyes in annoyance, even as he dumps a pile of gaudy, sugary confectionery into one of the mismatched cereal bowls which have been sitting at the back of the kitchen cupboard for the better part of a decade now. He wouldn’t touch those things if they were the last food on earth and he was starving, but he can’t say he’s surprised with how eagerly Dave and Tom tuck into it, sharing the bowl between the two of them.

After that, he leaves them to it, and he’s never been happier for the endless list of minor repairs which are essential for keeping their underground shelter fully operational. Tom may be a nuisance and a terrible hindrance on occasion, but at least he can count on him for offering Dave the correct amount of human interaction he apparently requires to function properly, or some semblance thereof.

He didn’t spend the better part of three hundred years trying to fit in – and failing miserably at that – for him to finally lower his guard around his unfortunate roommates now that they need someone to keep them in line, and that’s all there is to say about it. There’s no room for friendship in this unforgiving, post-apocalyptic mockery of a world, and if Dave and Tom are electing to delude themselves on that count, he’s got much more pressing matters to devote his full attention to.

Still, he doesn’t say no when Dave sidles up to him later that evening, follows him to his room like he’s done dozens of times by now. _It’s just sex_ , he tells himself, refusing to acknowledge the faintest suggestion of tenderness that’s been contaminating this whole arrangement for longer than he cares to admit. It’s only when Dave eventually dozes off that he relents a little, those artfully styled locks nearly as soft under his fingers as he imagines them to be.

He swallows around the shameful lump in his throat, mentally berates himself for being so horribly weak and utterly pathetic. He should be back to his own room by now, anywhere but sitting here pretending any of this means – anything, at all.

Dave stirs in his sleep, curls closer against his chest. “Stay,” he mumbles, voice still heavy with slumber. “Just for tonight.”

“Don’t be an idiot, Dave.”

“I won’t tell Tom if you don’t,” Dave promises, nose buried in the hollow of his neck. He lets him, too tired to argue, his fingers resuming their motion almost of their own volition.

With any luck, they will all be dead soon. Until then, he can let this slide, at least for the time being.


End file.
